


Acquiesce

by tanyart



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Power Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:06:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything is barely under control, but that's just fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acquiesce

**Author's Note:**

> Kinkmeme prompt; rank and powerplay.

Altair should have known something was amiss when Malik started to oblige his mindless babbling in between their rough kisses and wandering hands. He meant it as nothing, too caught up in the moment, since Malik refused to be silent, laughing and making sarcastic retorts while Altair tried to coax a more appreciative sound from him by pressing his lips at his neck. When he told Malik to be _silent_ and do something _other_ than run his mouth, it was more for show than anything else. It began as a joke, then, when Altair neatly cornered Malik against the wall and threatened to pull rank in jest. 

“And what would you have me to do?” Malik had drawled, putting his arm around Altair’s neck to bring him closer. He gave no indication that he would follow any orders, given by the Grandmaster or not. 

Half distracted by the hand running through his hair, Altair did not consider the question seriously, vaguely assumed Malik would only laugh at any answer and return to teasing him. Not that he minded, because that was a part of the fun, something to be expected. It hadn’t occurred to Altair that if he gave the absent, throwaway order to strip off all his clothes, Malik would obey with a surprising amount of enthusiasm and attention to detail. 

Altair stepped back from the wall and blinked, unsure if he had truly heard Malik’s simple murmur of assent. 

“It would be better if you were sitting,” Malik said to Altair’s stunned expression as he pushed the unresisting assassin down. Hooking two fingers under his dark blue robe, Malik slipped it off in one easy motion, all grace and calculated flourish. The robe fell from his fingers, pooling over Altair’s left leg where he sat on the carpeted floor. 

Confident that he had Altair’s attention, Malik looked down at him, smirking and ridding himself of the cowl and outer tunic in quick succession, but before those could he drop those as well, Altair grabbed his wrist, a faint flicker of suspicion crossing his features.

“Slower.” Altair leaned back, feeling bold and wondering how earnest Malik was, if it was one of those challenges meant to be taken, or if it was all just a prank at his expense. He inwardly braced himself, but his voice hardly wavered as he bared his teeth; Malik would not go through with this, this would push it too far: “Go on,” he said, letting his other hand wrap around the red sash, tugging Malik closer. “Entertain me.”

The cowl landed over his shoulder, the tunic over his head. It was a mild reaction, considering that it was _Malik_ , and thoroughly deserved. 

Grumbling, Altair dragged the cloth off, and froze midway through the movement at the sight of Malik tilting his head, slow and deliberate as he pulled his inner shift down, straining the fabric and exposing one shoulder where the stark angles of his collarbone stood out. Malik’s cheeks were beginning to redden, whether from arousal or slight embarrassment, Altair wasn’t quite sure. The one thing he _was_ sure of, however, was the blood rushing to his own face, the sudden dryness of his mouth as Malik continued to strip in front of him. 

“Oh,” he said, unable to look away for the longest of moments.

Malik’s weapon belt fell with a clatter, startling him. Altair lowered his gaze, belatedly noticing the hitch of cloth between Malik’s legs, making him more conscious of his own want, knowing that Malik was enjoying this, too, even before the other man pulled off his boots and stepped out of his breeches. Altair had yet to let go of the red sash, though Malik had taken that off ages ago.

“And next?” Malik asked, thankfully interpreting Altair’s desperate gesture – both hands gripping his waist – to get down on his knees, thighs spread to accommodate hovering over Altair’s lap. 

“What?” His eyes swept over Malik’s naked body. Not even pretending to hide his desire, Altair bent his head, lightly sucking the tip of Malik’s length, and hummed when Malik let out a wet gasp, loving the soft sound, but oh, it was much too _quiet_. He broke off to growl, “louder-“ and felt a rush a pleasure as Malik complied, voice raising into a moan. Licking his lips, Altair glanced up, mind racing so fast he could have been dizzy with the sordid thoughts, the very _ideas_ of what he could say.

But he remained silent, sitting up and blushing at the same time.

“I suppose you could have me dance, or do something of equal humiliating difficultly,” Malik mused, noting his hesitation. He shifted aside to sway his hips in a lewd parody of his suggestion. The tip of his arousal brushed against Altair’s chest. 

It sounded more like a taunt than an offer. Altair leaned forward, holding the back of Malik’s thigh to still his subtle rocking.

“I wouldn’t do that to you,” he said, dismissive, because it wasn’t something he could imagine Malik doing under normal circumstances, so it was unthinkable, really, to suggest anything Malik would not want or enjoy as well. 

Perhaps, Altair thought wryly, he was not all suited for this kind of play, since near impossible to get Malik to do anything he opposed, both in bed and out of it. Even when he was in agreement, Malik did not hold back criticizing Altair at every turn either.

“Ah, I see,” said Malik, sounding so breathy and pleased that Altair glanced up. He was looking down at Altair with hazy, lustful eyes, and when he lowered to brace his hand against the ground and rest his forehead against Altair’s, there a purposeful loll in his posture that made his normally practical movements sensual. And, very suddenly, Altair was acutely aware of what they both wanted. 

“I think,” he said carefully; the amount of trust Malik was giving him was intoxicating, making him heady – “You would do just about anything for me right now.” His hands came up to frame Malik’s face, one thumb running against the other man’s lip. Altair smirked. “But nothing embarrassing, of course. Or uncomfortable.” He paused, watching as Malik’s tongue swiped over the pad of his thumb. “Unless that is what you want.”

The smile Malik gave him was small, edged with hunger and the barest hint of malice, as if Altair had fallen into a trap. It was a good thing that Altair did not particularly care.

“Precisely,” Malik said, turning his head so that Altair’s hands slid down to his chest. He bent forward, sighing into Altair’s ear, words deceptively light if not for the deep, excited rumble that resonated between them. “So what _would_ I want to do for you, Altair?”

And it didn’t take Altair long at all to think, to encourage the way Malik raked a hand over his own hair in shameless display, direct him on his back and command him to recline against the cushions. Malik appeared relaxed, eyes half-lidded while Altair was wound tight, feeling his skin grow too hot under his robes. It was beginning to stifle him, almost to the point of being unbearable, but there was something very lovely about the restraint and control, knowing that Malik wore nothing while he was still fully clothed. 

“I want-” he started, voice gone to a rasp as he got down on his hands and knees above Malik. He blindly groped for Malik’s hand, found it, and brought to his mouth, teeth grazing over Malik’s fingertips and then his tongue over the palm. “Touch yourself,” he ordered, releasing Malik’s slickened hand. “Let me hear you.”

“Hm. Shall I call out your name then?” Malik offered, needlessly sarcastic, but his hand fell below his navel, trailing down, waiting.

“Yes,” Altair said, watching Malik take himself. He nearly added _if you want_ at the end, but it was clear that Malik _did_ want, and it was up to Altair to figure out the rest. He lowered his head, nipping the delicate skin beneath Malik’s jaw. “Indulge me.”

“And how would I do that?” Malik countered with a breathless laugh, because blind obedience was only a theory they were toying with, and Malik’s eyes were dark and unblinking. “By being loud?” He buried the side of his face into the cushions, dropping his voice into a low moan, “Mm, like this? Or – _ah, Altair_ -”

And yes, it was _exactly_ what Altair wanted, but he only swallowed and ignored the hot flash of pure _need_ in his gut. He was panting now, making no disguise of it, and he couldn’t help but briefly press a palm to the tent of his breeches. He groaned, hanging his head for a quick second before lifting it back up to glare at the man beneath him, ragged but demanding. “Did I say for you to stop?”

There was a very faint twist to Malik’s mouth. “No,” he replied, eyes fluttering shut. His hand continued to work over his length, pulling more roughly than what Altair would have done – _should_ have done, all those times before. Arching into his own touch, Malik’s knuckles bumped against Altair’s stomach, once and then twice, and his quiet whine hinted at being a little too self-satisfied when Altair twitched and rocked back to gain some amount of friction from his clothes.

Altair could hear the silent laughter in Malik’s tone, see it in the way Malik lowered his gaze in what was meant to be demure, but on him it was only subtle mockery of it. As he took his own pleasure, every gasp, stutter and needy keen was adorned and amplified for Altair’s benefit, knowing that every time Malik made an obscene wreck of himself, Altair felt it twofold and was drowning in it. 

“Oh, god.” And Altair loved it. Loved that his moan was every bit as genuine as Malik’s was embellished. Barely able to keep his position, Altair stroked Malik’s side, running kisses down his chest, his shoulder and neck, but never over Malik’s mouth. He was tempted to lean and press against Malik’s bent leg, rut shamelessly against it and finally seal their mouths together, but no – then Malik would stop making those noises, would stop talking and giving him glimpses of his lucid glances and smirks, and Altair could not have that.

“I am yours to command for the night and this is all you would have me do?” Malik panted, hips now jerking involuntarily into his hand. The corner of his mouth hitched upwards as he bit his lower lip in a poor attempt to hide a low groan of pleasure. He made sure Altair was looking when he gave a tiny, broken ‘ _ah_ ’ – and slurred, “I do this enough when you are not around.”

By the end his words started to stutter in earnest, the rise and fall of his chest quickening with each shallow breath. Malik was writhing, and Altair’s arms threatened to buckle beneath him from watching.

“Altair,” Malik moaned. He rolled his hips, hand moving up and down in jerky motions, faltering. Whole body pulled taunt, he lifted his head, skin flushed and damp with sweat, and stared at Altair, a warning, made clearer into a plea; “I need, tell me to -“

And Altair could not stop himself. He fell forward, kissing Malik greedily, saying a senseless string of _yes, go on, yes_ , and they both knew it was over in that moment. With a small gasp, Malik shuddered, eyes shutting as he stroked himself through his climax, murmuring Altair’s name against his lips, subdued and quiet, though Altair was past listening. 

Brought down to just his forearms and knees, Altair keened, desperate to have Malik touch _him_ now. He was so hard it was almost painful, and he could not think of anything else other than to repeat over and over for Malik to do something, anything, “ _yes, I want you, I want you to touch me_ ” and some part of his mind would remember how dazed Malik still looked, fumbling to part Altair’s robes and slide his wet slick hand under Altair’s breeches. 

Malik’s grasp was clumsy, but Altair buried his face into the juncture of Malik’s neck, thrusting into his hand and making choked noises of relief. He felt Malik’s fingers shift, tightening, and the added pressure finished him completely. The hot, mounting ache spiked into pleasure and his head swam from it. Exhaling sharply, he was lucky that he did not have far to fall, and splayed carelessly over Malik.

He did not move until he felt Malik’s hand drag from his breeches. Rolling over, Altair struggled to calm the pounding in his chest. He hooked his fingers around the ties of his robe and pulled, dimly aware of the splattered wetness down the front from Malik’s release.

“Shall I get that for you?” Malik eased over him, grabbing a fistful of the clammy fabric.

Altair gave a short laugh, moving with the pull. “Yes,” he said, putting his fingers to Malik’s lips in silent indication that Malik _might_ want to use his mouth, “though I assume you would tire of taking orders by now.”

“Is that what you thought it was?” Malik hummed, lowering his head to bite and loosen the ties. 

“Wasn’t it?” Altair shivered, feeling Malik’s breath cool on his overheated skin. He sensed rather than saw Malik’s grin.

“By all means, if that is what you want to believe,” Malik said, and sat up, eyes alight and playfully defiant. 

“I see,” Altair replied slowly, mind turning blank once more as the other man smirked. “Then I suppose I have the rest of the night to prove myself wrong.”


End file.
